


Two Winchesters, One Bed

by omgbubblesomg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy/Unconscious Sex, you can take "there was only one bed" from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 13:24:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15413889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgbubblesomg/pseuds/omgbubblesomg
Summary: It was cold and wet and neither of them had slept properly for a week, so of course the only available room in the whole shitty town was a single.At some point everyone has to write a “there was only one bed” fic. Here’s my contribution.





	Two Winchesters, One Bed

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this almost a year ago and I've been saving up to post it during an update drought so I wouldn't die of starvation. (Starvation here meaning "a lack of kudos").  
> So anyway have a sneaky bed sharing fic! I promise it has not taken any time out of my WIP schedule ;)
> 
> The original prompt is [here:](https://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/122619.html?thread=43692027#t43692027) The nights are the cheap motels are starting to get chilly, so Sam and (a reluctant) Dean decide to share one bed and cuddle for warmth. In the middle of the night, and much to Dean's alarm, Sam begins to have a wet dream. When an awkward Dean attempts to wriggle out of Sam's death-grip snuggles, he realizes he can't move out from under the giant's body. And since life is never fair for our dear Dean Winchester, Sam begins to make an unconscious move on him--feeling him up, kissing his body, etc.. All this is happening while Same manages to stay completely asleep. It's up to you if Sam slips him the dick. It's also up to you if Dean confronts him immediately after or these events reoccur over several nights.

 

It was cold and wet and neither of them had slept properly for a week, so of course the only available room in the whole shitty town was a single.

Dean growled at the indifferent receptionist. “Fine,” he snapped. “Gimme the keys.”

It wouldn’t be the first time he had shared a bed with Sam, but did they really have to do it _now?_ They’d been chasing vampires through the woods for one whole frozen week and all he really wanted was a hot shower, half a dozen beers, and then a long uninterrupted sleep stretched out in his _own. fucking. bed._ Was that too much to ask?

Apparently, yes.

Sam couldn’t have cared less, of course. While Dean griped and grumbled and hauled their sopping duffels into the room, Sam snagged the first shower without even looking at the bed twice. Dean kind of wanted someone to be as grumpy as he was, but Sam had always been impervious to Dean’s moods, even when everything was made of icicles and sleet.

A warm shower helped a teensy, tiny bit, so that when Dean climbed into bed he was irritated, not all-out-pissed. Until Sam got in and kicked his legs like the gigantic moose he was.

“Bugger off,” Dean snapped.

“It’s a small bed, Dean. I didn’t mean to—”

“Just stay on your side, _Samantha._ And don’t wake me up.”

Sam rolled his eyes and turned off the light.

Despite the freezing temperature, Dean was asleep almost immediately.

When he blinked awake the room was pitch black and, for some reason, no longer freezing cold. He was actually kinda warm. He stretched comfortably, and that’s when he noticed his… predicament.

Sam was plastered against back, a leg in between Dean’s and hands wrapped around Dean’s stomach. He must have brought the TV remote to bed with him because _no way_ was that his fucking _dick_ pressed up against Dean’s ass right now.

“Dude,” Dean complained. He made to sit up but Sam’s koala-arms just wrapped him up tighter, a big clingy space blanket, and one of his hands— _dear jesus_ —one of his hands went down to cup Dean’s junk through his shorts.

Dean gasped and had he always been that hard or had he gotten that hard in the 0.2 seconds it had taken for Sam to grab him?

“Sam, geddof—”

Sam squeezed him with his whole body, like a cat coiling and stretching in the sun. Arms constricting, legs curling, and his hand tightening once before relaxing to just cup him. He rolled forward just a bit, mushing Dean’s face into the pillow and drawing them even closer together, gravity working to mould his chest to Dean’s back. He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “Yeah, baby,” and Dean would have laughed if he could’ve because Sam was having a wet dream like some fourteen-year-old kid.

“Sam,” he tried again, muffled into the pillow, and Sam’s face came over his shoulder like he was actually listening, except Dean heard his mouth open and then _fuck_ , Sam bit his neck.

It was lucky that Sam wasn’t awake because Dean’s cock actually jumped and no way did he want Sam to know how much he had liked the feeling of teeth in his skin.

Sam’s body sort of stuttered up a bit, like he was searching for something with his hips, and two things occurred to Dean simultaneously. First, he needed to wake Sam from his sex dream. Second, _there was absolutely no way that he could wake Sam from his sex dream._ If Sam woke up and found Dean hard, then that would be it. No more driving across the country together. No more hunting as a team. No more hunting _full stop_. Dean would crawl into a ball and die of mortification and Sam would slam the door on his way out.

So when Sam ground his hips forward, then up, Dean bit into the pillow to stop himself from moaning out loud. How could anyone be this accurate? Let alone someone _asleep_. Sam’s cock was lined _straight up_ his ass, pushing between his cheeks with every sleepy thrust.

He couldn’t help it. He really couldn’t. When Sam next shoved forward Dean twitched into it, rolling back, and Sam groaned into his neck, just below his ear. He was so fucking sensitive there and Sam’s voice was sending electricity down his spine. The hand beneath Dean was holding him across the chest, keeping his arms pinned, and Dean couldn’t ease the strain in his own boxers, except by shoving forward into the mattress, forcing Sam’s other hand to rub against him.

He whimpered. Too loud. Not loud enough. He couldn’t wake Sam.

Sam was probably just innocently dreaming about some girl and Dean was taking advantage of his little brother, getting hard on just the _idea_ that Sam was fucking _him._ It felt awfully like taking advantage. Especially with Sam moaning behind him and getting impossibly closer, dick like an extra limb shoved right up against Dean, only a few thin layers of clothing separating them.

Sam’s lips kissed wetly at the back of his neck, and behind his jaw, and Dean was going to hell. He wanted those lips lower. On his cock. On his, _oh god,_ his asshole. He wanted Sam’s tongue inside him. He wanted Sam’s _dick_ inside him. He would be lying if he said he’d never had his own wet dreams of this exact scenario, except with Sam awake and no clothes in the way.

The arm beneath Dean squeezed tight and fondled at him, fingers finding Dean’s nipples and pinching sharply, pulling out. Dean curved into it as though Sam was tugging his spine out through his chest. With the next pinch Sam drew a noise out of him; something pained, high in his throat. He hoped that the neighbouring rooms would pass it off as a cat outside the window.

He needed a hand free. He needed to touch himself. He needed to get his boxers off and get Sam’s dick angled up inside him but that would _absolutely_ wake Sam up and most of all he needed this to happen without losing his brother at the end.

He clenched his fists where they were trapped beside him and forced himself to enjoy what Sam gave him without seeking anything more. Just this. Just the heat of his little brother against his back and the line of fire between his cheeks, where Sam was starting to lose his rhythm and stutter-thrust against him.

He was going to memorise every fucking second of this night so he could fuel his fantasies for the rest of his _life._

It didn’t last nearly as long as he would have liked. Sam clutched at him, making nonsense sounds in his ear and bringing Dean _so, so close_ before shoving forward in a final thrust. Hard enough that Dean could _feel_ the hot spurts of liquid wetting both of them. He was warm from it, his boxers tantalisingly sticky between his cheeks. Sticky from _Sam’s come_.

“ _Dean,_ ” Sam moaned, and Dean froze in place, pillow still between his teeth. That couldn’t… he didn’t… Sam did not just moan _his name_ as he came.

He must have made some noise. A sob or a cut-off expletive, because Sam stiffened, still pressed up against him, suddenly and irrevocably awake.

Dean couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even think. But Sam’s hands were still cupped around him and when his fingers moved, the barest squeeze, Dean came undone. Yelling into the pillow, coming in his shorts like a teenager while Sam stayed frozen behind him.

Little suns popped in front of his eyes and when he was finally lucid enough to look down he could see the spreading damp patch beneath Sam’s fingers and he didn’t know how he was supposed to handle the fact that Sam had held him through it, had deliberately let Dean’s come wet his fingers.

Sam pulled away, yanking his hands free from underneath them and Dean could only cover his head with his arms. He’d done it. He’d blown it. It was the end of everything. And he couldn’t even force himself to feel horrified, though that would probably come later. Right now he was still on a high, little sparks shooting down his limbs and he couldn’t make them stop. His brother had just… with his hand… and his mouth… his _brother_ had done that.

The bathroom tap ran and he could almost hear the sound of Sam throwing his possessions into his duffel. The toothbrush. Clean clothes. Sam was going to leave and Dean had made him do it.

He should let him go. He had never deserved Sam anyway. But as he heard the footsteps leaving the bathroom—on their way to the door, no doubt—he couldn’t stop himself from begging.

“Don’t go,” he whispered, half muffled by the pillow. “Please, Sammy. I’ll never… I didn’t mean… Please don’t go.”

Sam chuckled, and something heavy landed on the bed behind Dean. Sam had… Sam was crawling back under the covers with him. A warm washcloth in his hand that he wiped Dean with. Tucking the elastic of his boxers down to swipe over his sensitive cock.

“Wh-wha?” he stammered, not sure where his hands should go as Sam carefully and _deliberately_ cleaned his soft dick.

Sam dropped the dirty washcloth to the side and spooned himself back into his original position, pressing a kiss to the back of Dean’s neck.

“Wake me up next time, jerk,” he murmured. He hooked his chin over Dean’s shoulder, bringing them together again. “Now go to sleep so we can do this again in the morning.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> For lack of an inbuilt "keep reading" button, here are my favourite There Was Only One Bed fics for your convenience:  
> [One King](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12219798) by soy_em  
> [Sharing is Caring](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6935038) by outoftheashes
> 
>  
> 
> Like the fic?  
> F E E D M E


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